And so the prodigal son is coming home. Next week Prince Harry will return to the UK on the third anniversary of his grandmother’s death. He is expected to meet King Charles during the trip — the first time the two have been together in 19 months.
“Who cares!” cries the modern, enlightened Brit. Well, oddly, I do. And I hope I can persuade you to care, too. I’ve always been fascinated with how the royals reflect our lives back to us, the way their ups and downs form a great national soap opera. I think they help us to better understand ourselves.
It helps that the Windsor family contains such recognisable archetypes: the daughter-in-law causing schisms; the dodgy uncle who everyone hopes won’t show up at Christmas. All happy families are alike. But, more than we’d like to admit, all unhappy families are alike too.
Members of the royal family at the late Queen’s funeral three years ago. Harry has since seen his father privately just once
TOBY MELVILLE/REUTERS
Take Britain’s second royal family: the Beckhams. Brooklyn Beckham and his wife Nicola recently renewed their vows, without any of the groom’s family present. The couple also did not attend David Beckhams’s 50th birthday celebrations in May. What’s behind the feud? Is it because Nicola wore a Valentino dress to her wedding rather than one designed by Brooklyn’s mother, Victoria? Is Brooklyn annoyed because his brother Romeo dated one of his exes? Whatever the real answer, I suspect it’s sadder and far more complex.
It is not just the rich and famous getting in on this act. The idea of sacking off your family is one that has increasing cultural visibility. If you’re looking to make yourself deeply miserable, I recommend searching the hashtag #nocontactfamily on TikTok. Dip your toe into the depths of human misery where once you would have expected to see a cat video or a synchronised dance.
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You’ll find video after video of — mostly — young women explaining why they no longer speak to their parents. In some cases, they talk about horrendous childhood abuse or neglect. In others, the split seems to have been caused by the type of trivial disagreement most of us would consider to be worth a quick tiff and quicker reconciliation. It’s easy to watch the latter videos and become convinced the world is full of selfish narcissists. I try to resist. After all, we are only seeing a very small snapshot of these women’s lives.
I am wary too of suggesting that, because this phenomenon is more public now, this means family abandonment is on the rise. A quick Google search shows numerous articles pondering why “no contact” is taking off, none of which seems to be based on anything other than anecdotal evidence and the prevalence of these videos.
There is very little data on the topic but a study in 2014 by Ipsos Mori and the charity Stand Alone found that 8 per cent of people in the UK said that they themselves had cut off a family member, and one in five families were in some way affected by estrangement. This seems an extraordinary tragedy.
Then there’s the fact that the non-profit National Family Mediation Service — the largest provider of family mediation in England and Wales — had more than 100 approaches last year citing terms like “alienation”, “cut ties” or “lost contact”. These are not meganumbers, sure. But this is just one organisation, and one dealing with families that have often exhausted all other options at that.
Behind each of those 100 cries for help will be a story of quite astonishing sadness. Such stories have always been there. We just look at it differently now. The face of family estrangement used to be that of an absent father. Now, it is a bright-eyed young woman talking to a camera about protecting her peace.
Would it surprise me if, as a result of the fact that these stories are much more visible, more people begin to cut ties with their once-loved ones? Not at all. We are social creatures: we observe the behaviour of others and mimic it in our own lives. Many of the people choosing “no contact” might not have realised this was an option 20 years ago, or had a framework in which to understand the instincts they were feeling.
I am extremely wary of such instincts. It is correct to remove oneself from one’s family in cases of physical or emotional abuse on the part of a parent. But other than that, I worry about the long-term consequences of family estrangement. I like to believe — naively, Pollyannaishly — that most problems are fixable with time and effort. I also suspect the consequences of departure on those departing, and on those left behind, are far deeper than we imagine.
I worry that the popularity of these videos talking about the peace their creators have found will lead to a broader normalisation of such drastic measures. It strikes me that “no contact” runs the risk of going the way of other bits of therapy language that have entered the mainstream and are now used by non-experts to justify poor behaviour to themselves and others. Failing to support a family member in crisis is now “creating boundaries”, for example. Picking up slack from your partner is decried as “emotional labour”.
I have no doubt that the young women talking publicly about leaving their families have — in nearly every case — good reason. But the repackaging of these experiences as voyeuristic entertainment subtly changes the way we think about family ties. The same is true of stories we read about the Beckhams, or the royals. We are social creatures. We learn from each other.
And so it’s for that reason, despite myself, I find myself reading voraciously every article I come across about the fact that Harry and Charles are having a crack at reconciliation. The stories we tell each other matter, and this one — perhaps — could show us that happy endings are worth working for.
Matcha kids won’t swallow the Costa bad coffee
Costa Coffee is in trouble. I read on the BBC website last week that the brand has “lost the matcha generation”. Young people are turning away from good, honest coffee chains in pursuit of fancy new brands like Blank Street that will offer them a bright-green matcha iced latte. There is speculation that Costa will be sold for half what it was worth in 2019.
It’s a great story, this. It hits all sorts of cultural touchpoints. Young people are killing off a once-loved brand. Young people are spending all the money they should be putting towards a house deposit on frivolous barista-prepared drinks. Young people are turning away from sensible black coffee in favour of Technicolor monstrosities that look good on Instagram.
And, sure, maybe half those things are half true. But I think there’s a much deeper truth here: young people seek out quality, and Costa coffee simply isn’t very good.
This generation has grown up with an astonishing amount of choice: the cuisines of a hundred countries a short delivery away; a thousand coffee brands competing for its custom. Charging £4 for a slightly rubbish latte just isn’t going to cut it. It’s the same reason we see mid-market chains like TGI Fridays and Pizza Express losing out. You can eat better food for less money in every city centre in Britain now. This is, unavoidably, a good thing. This is a triumph of capitalism. All hail the electric-green latte.